


hand in hand, with fairy grace

by knightinbrightfeathers



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Midsummer Night's Dream - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Asexual Feuilly, Drugs, Dubious Ethics, F/F, F/M, Fae & Fairies, M/M, Magic, Midsummer Night's Dream, Misunderstandings, Multi, blame willy shakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 02:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17951594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinbrightfeathers/pseuds/knightinbrightfeathers
Summary: Enjolras grit his teeth. “There are humans in my forest.”“They do venture into the woods once in a while, you know.”---Lovers lost in the forest. Fairies getting into mischief. Lots of puns. It's Midsummer Night's Dream the way Shakespeare never wanted it and Les Miserables the way Victor Hugo would murder me for!





	hand in hand, with fairy grace

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this for half a year...  
> A great big thank you to rhien, aka deservingporcupine, aka the best beta whom I love.  
> There are quotes scattered throughout this fic, mostly MND but some more Shakespeare as well. Oh, and the title's MND too.  
> Combeferre's wings are Spanish moon moth wings. Because reasons.

It started, as all stories start, with a truth.

Perhaps you disagree, and would say that all stories start with a lie, or a promise, or that no two stories have the same beginning. Very well; but every story that knows its own worth begins with a truth. (Although truth is beauty and beauty truth, so in fact any sufficiently attractive beginning could be considered true, if you like that sort of philosophical conundrum.) Truth, they say, is stranger than fiction, or in any case it has all of the same qualities without having to be made up. As every writer can tell you, any story that makes itself up is a blessing.

Besides, what is a truth? Simply a story that the universe itself believes in.

So: our truth.

-

“Cosette stole my man,” Éponine said, and immediately regretted it.

She had been sitting alone, and only sulking a little. It was in the part of Athens where, if someone was sitting around glaring at the air, you should stay away unless you like being stabbed. She hadn’t been expecting anyone to approach her. She’d been expecting to get her sulking over with so the rest of the day could have a chance at being even a little productive.

Still, she had been approached, and the girls had asked her why she was all alone, poor thing, with such a look on her face, and Éponine hadn’t been able to resist complaining just a little, in a joking sort of way. It wasn’t as if she minded, after all. The problem was that although her statement was true, it was completely inaccurate.

“Oh, you poor thing,” one girl cooed, and another exclaimed, “That cow! She already has half the men in Athens panting over her!”

“It’s not-” Éponine tried. “I mean-”

“And she has Marius,” said another, looking disapproving.

“It was just a joke, really,” Éponine tried.

“Would you have thought it? She looks so sweet!” And the whole group broke into chatter.

“Uh,” Éponine said. Cosette was not going to be pleased.

-

Cosette was not pleased.

“I’m sorry!” Éponine said. “I was joking! It’s not my fault that they took me seriously and ignored me when I tried to correct them!”

“The whole city thinks I’m a man-stealing seductress!” They’d met up in a little temple that Éponine had found long ago, a place all three could get together and not worry about being seen. Dust danced in the half-lit murk around her, tension taken form.

“Not the whole city,” Éponine hazarded. 

Cosette glared at her. “Enough of it. Honestly, Éponine. We spoke of this!”

Marius looked between the two of them, expression miserable.

“You can’t think this is jealousy!”

“What else am I supposed to think? I take Marius to meet Papa, and in that short time you accuse me of stealing your man away from you.” Cosette crossed her arms. “I don’t understand you. Is this relationship not enough? Do you feel we have neglected you?”

“Of course not! It just - came out. It was a joke, for heaven’s sake.”

“It wasn’t funny,” Cosette said, low and angry. “Come, Marius. Let’s go.”

“Maybe we should just talk this out in here?” Marius said, but Cosette had already marched out the door.

“Cosette, wait,” Éponine called, running after her. She caught Cosette’s wrist. “Please, darling, hear me out.”

“I’m not in the mood,” Cosette says, and then she raises her eyes and freezes.

Éponine follows her gaze up to the scowl on Guard Captain Javert’s face.

“Éponine, Cosette, wait a moment!” Marius’s voice echoed from inside the temple, and he stumbled out. “We can sort this…out…”

-

“Is that Courfeyrac?” The door to the tavern hadn’t stopped swinging before Musichetta called out, craning her neck to get a good look at whoever had just entered.

“That it is,” Courfeyrac replied cheerily, sliding into an empty chair next to Bahorel, who clapped him on the shoulder.

“Then we’re all here, and we can finally start,” Musichetta sighed. “I have the scripts here. Joly, if you could – thank you. Now, I know Midsummer Eve is only a few days away, and we’re behind on rehearsals-”

“Sorry,” Bossuet offered, apologetic.

Joly patted him on the arm. “It’s not your fault you slipped in paint and bruised your back.”

Musichetta looked as if she didn’t quite agree, but didn’t argue. “We’re doing an old classic, so the lack of rehearsal won’t be a problem. Courfeyrac will be Pyramus.”

“Boo,” Bahorel interjected.

“Bahorel will be the wall.”

“Yessss.” Bahorel flexed his impressive muscles. “I will be a mighty wall.”

Courfeyrac poked a bicep. “Nice.”

“Joly will be Thisby.”

“But I have a beard coming in,” Joly said, stroking a cheek smooth as a five-year-old’s.

“I can see it,” Courfeyrac said, squinting at Joly’s jaw.

“Bossuet will be the lion.”

“Not too many words, then,” Bossuet said, nodding. “Probably for the best.”

“And I will play the moonshine,” Musichetta said, tossing her head.

“Very appropriate,” Courfeyrac agreed.

“Hey there,” Bossuet joked. “That’s our girl.”

“Of course, of course.” Courfeyrac rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Do you think I should play Pyramus with a beard? I still have that orange one from last year’s show.”

“No,” said several people at once.

“We meet for rehearsal at the duke’s oak at the usual time,” Musichetta reminded them all. “Don’t be late!”

-

The woods echoed with song mortals did not hear often. If it had fallen upon mortal ear, there would have been no doubt that it was a fae song. The voice singing it, sweet as it was, nevertheless had a quality to it like wind whistling through tree boughs, high and cold.

“Whither wander thou, spirit?”

The spirit in question paused in their song. “Now that’s a voice I haven’t heard in far too long.” Peering down from their perch in a tree, they grinned. Sharp teeth glinted. “Robin, my friend!”

“It’s R now, Jean-Jehan the Blessed,” replied that same Robin, showing a set of tree-root teeth in his own grin. “And it hasn’t been that long. I saw you last full moon, when we performed for my lord.”

“Time,” Jehan said dreamily, and swung down so that they hung by their knees from a tree-branch. “Tell me, R the Great, the Grand, what has happened in the time since I saw you? How fares your lord?”

“Oh, this and that,” said R, flapping a hand as if to dismiss a month’s worth of mischief. “And my lord is as he always is. A fiery flame in the murkiest mire; a sharp sunbeam flaring against the onset of the night; the throb of my heart, and the heart of Faerie itself.”

“The throb of other parts of you, as well,” Jehan said merrily, swinging back and forth. “Has anyone yet rousted you from your place by his side?”

“I am as difficult to dislodge as a burr,” R agreed. “And twice as determined, for I get under his skin in more ways than the one.”

“You always were skilled at such tasks.” Jehan fluttered their eyelashes. “Is it your skill that has driven you away from Oberon’s throne, to lurk around Titania’s bower?”

R’s shoulders slumped comically, his clever face puckered into a pout. “Ah, Jehan, would that my own tongue had caused Oberon’s ire, then a little grovelling would have raised his spirits. Alas, he is enraged with Titania.”

“Titania? Loyal Titania, the monarch of these woods, that learned scholar of magics great and small? Has the growing summer heat turned fair Oberon’s head?”

“Speak not thus, my sweet Jehan,” R replied, shaking his head sorrowfully. “For I shall tell you my tale, and you will understand. My beloved has a friend, a dear advisor, who is often by his side. Many nights have they spoken of the dues a ruler owes his people, and 'til morning have they debated over philosophies. Why, just a fortnight ago this fae, one Feuilly by name, came to speak of the embassy to Hippolyta of the Amazons. I lingered to participate in their debate, of course.”

“Of course,” said Jehan drily. “I can well imagine what you added to their learned speech. At first you only interrupted, keen on making mischief.”

“As is my nature.”

Jehan gave him a warning glance. “And then, when your lovely Oberon turned to you, you distracted him with the rest of your nature, and your guest was left to sit in discomfort as you forgot of his existence.”

“I am very distracting,” R said, smugness dripping from every pore. “You have landed on the truth as always, dearest of dewdrops, in all but one particular. For when my lord and I emerged from our debate-”

“None but you would call it thus, and all would name it otherwise,” Jehan murmured, and shrugged, a strange gesture in an upside-down creature.

“We found ourselves alone, and Feuilly gone, with only a little page-boy to tell us that Feuilly had gone to Titania. He would not return, no matter how my lord pleaded, and finally Titania sent a message to my lord. Feuilly would stay! That is the last word, and not for the fairy lands could my lord sway Titania’s heart.”

Jehan nodded, an action even odder looking than the shrug. “Now I understand the source of Oberon’s ire, but pray, can he not speak with Titania and mend the rift?”

“He will not admit to any tensions between them. Not so close to Midsummer, when the borders are thin and the fairy folk grow riotous.” R shrugged. “Therefore, I will linger by the bower until Titania grants me entrance, or my lord ends his sulk.”

“There was a time when you would have behaved differently, and poked and prodded him until he burst,” Jehan mused. They unhooked one leg from the tree branch it was wrapped around, stretching and flexing with no regard for their precarious balance. “I do believe I prefer this version.”

“I am not so different than I was, Jean-Jehan the Upside-down.” R dropped to the ground, lying on his back to stare up at Jehan’s acrobatics. “I still pursue my amusements, and I confess I find this post mightily tedious.”

“I do believe I have the solution for you, R the Reputable,” Jehan said, giggling at R’s expression. “I have with me that herb that mortals call love-in-idleness, and the western fae call the purple flower. I have grown quite fond of it, for although mortals believe it is Cupid’s flower, it is closer to Dionysus’s vine.”

“How like a winter hath thy absence been, Jehan my sun,” R sang, reaching up to accept the little pouch from an outstretched arm.

“Don’t let Oberon hear you,” Jehan said. “I happen to like myself in one piece.”

-

“We need to do something,” Cosette said, pacing back and forth across Marius’s little room. Her ashen complexion and pacing might have made anyone think her scared, but Marius knew her better than that. Cosette was furious.

“Oh, gods,” Éponine murmured. She kept glancing nervously at the door, as if expecting Javert to barge panting through the door any second and demand that they come with him. “Lady Pandemos, keep us safe.”

“Javert won’t go straight to Papa,” Cosette said. The way she worried her shawl between her fingers gave the lie to the confidence in her tone. “The day is almost over, he’ll think it isn’t proper. And anyways, he knows Papa won’t see him in the evening… He’ll go early tomorrow...” She stopped abruptly. “We need to leave Athens.”

“What?” Éponine whipped her head around to stare at Cosette. “Where would we go?”

“Somewhere we can be together,” Cosette said. “I have some money.”

“I have family outside the city,” Marius offered. “A cousin. He’s a soldier and rarely home. We can stay there awhile.”

“And we can figure it out from there.” Cosette nodded.

“We’d have to leave tonight…”

“Then we’ll leave tonight.” Hands on her hips, chin set, Cosette could have been Athena herself, leading her warriors to glory. “The law of Athens may not let us all wed, but there must be a city where nobody knows us, and we can live together.”

Éponine looked doubtful, but said nothing, so for the present, Marius let it lie.

-

“Here’s a nice little spot to practice our arts,” Musichetta declared, striding into the clearing with Bossuet and Joly at her side. “Is everyone here?”

“Yes indeed,” Courfeyrac said, leaping up from his seat in the grass. “Bahorel is here with me also. We have been thinking-”

“It’s pronounced ‘drinking’, I believe,” Bossuet said.

“Tis the drink that makes him slur his words, till  _ drinking _ becomes  _ thinking _ ,” said Joly.

“And then his thinking is only of drinking!” Bossuet exclaimed, laughing.

“You wound me,” Courfeyrac cried, and ran up to put his arms around their shoulders. “Why, I am completely sober, for I have consumed no spirits, though I admit I am not sober in spirit.”

“And we would not have you so,” Musichetta added, ruffling his curls so that he squawked. “What have you and Bahorel thought of this time? And where is he?”

“Here,” came a voice from where Courfeyrac had been sitting, and a large hand waved up from the tall grass. “I am rehearsing for my role by imitating the ground.”

“Your role is a wall,” Musichetta said.

“And what is a wall but a vertical floor? And what is the ground but a natural floor?”

“And what is a man but an ass?”

Joly gasped. “I knew she was using us for our bodies!” He and Bossuet collapsed into giggles.

“Come now,” Musichetta said, a smile stretching the corners of her mouth. “Let us hear your suggestions, Courfeyrac, and then we must rehearse our play.”

“Oh, we thought we might include a prologue, you see. Something about the underlying message of our little play, and the role of theatre as a critique for the powerful, but couched in a humorous tone, so that if we give offence we may deny our intentions and say that we meant it not.”

“No,” Musichetta said resolutely. “We’re too close to the deadline.”

“Fine,” Courfeyrac pouted.

“I still think a play within a play is an interesting idea,” Bahorel said from ground level. “Very thought provoking.”

“Write that play you keep talking about so much, and we’ll put it on. In the meantime, we’re going to make people laugh.” Musichetta clapped her hands. “Places, everybody!”

-

Éponine wound through the alleys of the city with increasing urgency. Gathering her meagre possessions hadn’t taken long, but calling in debts had. It was dark already. Still, she knew Athens well, and a shortcut or two would make her just on time. Heart pounding with a mixture of fear, hope, and exertion, she nearly punched Gavroche in the face when he popped up in front of her.

“Gods!” Éponine hissed, skidding to a halt in an undignified manner. “Gav, you scared me!”

The boy in question only looked at her with big, unblinking eyes. “Mont says you’re leaving.”

“Mont was told to keep mum.”

“So you are leaving.” Gavroche bounced on his toes. “Where are you going? Are you coming back? Will you take me with you?”

“I don’t  – I – I can’t, Gav.” She crouched down, balancing her bag with difficulty. “I’m going with other people.”

Gavroche nodded sagely. “The milk-livered pigeon-head and the rich wet-behind-the-ears girl?”

Éponine sighed. “Yes.” 

“And they won’t let you bring us?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Éponine said. “We’re running away, Gav, not going visiting.”

“It can’t be worse than Mama.”

It could, oh, it could. She loved Cosette and Marius, but they had never truly been on their own, always had money or family to fall back on. They had no plan and no guarantee for the future, only hope and a blind belief that it would turn out all right. Gods, they were stupid, and so was she. “I’ll come get you when I have a place,” she said. “I swear. I have to go now, but I’ll come back for you.”

“And Azelma.”

“And Azelma,” Éponine promised.

Gavroche looked at her, assessing her as shrewdly as someone three times her age. “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” Éponine said, smacking a kiss on his forehead and taking off before he could protest.

-

“Puck!”

The shout crackled through the air of the faerie forest, sending gnomes scurrying under tree roots and causing several pixies to expel nervous clouds of glittery dust. It ruffled the leaves of the trees and stopped just short of stirring the air of Titania’s bower, carefully insulated from outside noise.

It reached Jehan and R.

“Ah, my sun beckons,” R said dreamily, looking up at the sky visible between the branches. “Not that false pretender which has set in the west, with its paltry rays and jealous shine, but the true sun, his rays of gold true and his heat scorching. Do not seek to dazzle me, thou falsehood! My love has already blinded me to all others, for he is-”

“R!”

“-sourer than a barrel of vinegar,” R continued without missing a beat. “Excuse me.” He rolled over in the grass and jumped to his feet. “I will return.”

“Assuredly,” Jehan said, but they said it to empty air, for R had already left.

-

“-humans in my forest,” R heard as he entered Oberon’s grove. “On Midsummer’s Night! Stomping all over the raths and scaring the hamadryads and shouting in their loud human voices!”

“Yes, Oberon,” quavered the poor sprite caught in Enjolras’s circle of pacing. 

“You’re scaring the flunkies, my lord,” R said, drawing Enjolras’s attention and allowing the grateful sprite to scamper away.

“Don’t call them flunkies,” Enjolras said automatically, and frowned. “Why are you covered in grass stains?”

R, skilled at distracting Enjolras, only asked, “What’s this I hear about humans?”

It worked. Enjolras grit his teeth. “There are  _ humans _ in my  _ forest _ .”

“They do venture into the woods once in a while, you know.”

“They were here! Oh, not in the grove,” Enjolras said, waving a dismissive hand at R’s startled expression. “But just outside it. I want them gone.”

“Do you know why they are here?” R asked.

“Some lover’s quarrel. I did not care to listen.”

“Then shall I scare them away for you?” R suggested. “I have a spell that I have been itching to try, but it is a little much for a simple prank on a member of the court.”

“And you are certain it will scare them off without doing any lasting harm? I do not want to be finding iron in our kingdom tomorrow.”

“Sure as sure,” R said, adopting a look of pious obedience. “They will only be frightened, and run off with their little hearts all pitter-pat.”

“Very well,” Enjolras said.

“May I have a kiss before I go?” R asked, swaying forward.

“Of a certainty,” Enjolras said. And then, “Why do you taste funny?”

-

“From the top, everyone,” Musichetta called, and the troupe groaned in concert. “Oh, shut your mouths.”

“It’s late, Chetta,” Joly said. “It’s dark.”

“There’s a full moon, dear one.”

“And I’ve already tripped on a root twice,” Bossuet said. “This moonlight is treacherous.”

“Just once more,” Musichetta cajoled. “The festival is tomorrow. We need to be prepared. Once more, and then we can all go to our beds.”

“Just once!” Bahorel called.

“I give you my word that you will not be kept from your bed longer than is necessary, o wall of walls,” Musichetta said. “Courfeyrac?”

“I will prepare for my entrance.”

Bahorel sniggered.

“Your mind is filthier than a sewer,” Courfeyrac told him amiably, and retreated behind a tree. “All right, I am in place.”

“Very well then, I shall begin,” Musichetta said, and recited: “Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show; But wonder on, till truth make all things plain…”

Then her voice was strangely muffled for a moment, and it seemed to Courfeyrac that the light of the moon dimmed for a bit, before all was once again as it should be, except that he was oddly hungry.

Bahorel gave his lines, and Courfeyrac exited on his cue.

Everybody screamed and ran.

“Very funny!” Courfeyrac called. “You’re a bunch of comics, the lot of you.” He stepped further into the clearing. “You can come back now!” He scratched one of his ears, which was unusually long and furry. Further investigation found that the rest of his face was unusually hairy as well, and that his nose was long and took up half his face, and his teeth-

Courfeyrac screamed, the sound oddly harsh and braying to his ears, and ran into the forest.

-

“Darling one,” Marius said, “I do believe we’re lost.”

“No, we aren’t,” Cosette said, but her lower lip trembled and she sat down on the mossy ground with a thump. “Oh, Marius, I do wish we had waited for Ép.”

“That guard almost caught us, and would have brought you back to your father.”

“And you to the prison, I know – but we left without her and she will think we have abandoned her. And I was so cruel! I was scared – and angry – oh, I’m still cross, but I do wish she were here.”

“And I as well,” Marius agreed. He sank down next to Cosette and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You’re crying, dearest.”

“I know, it does no good, only sorrows me and you together. But I cannot help it.” Cosette wiped her eyes. “It’s dark, too dark to find our way to the path again.”

“Perhaps we should sleep a while, and when we wake the moon will be higher and we will be able to see our way.”

“I do not know if I can sleep,” Cosette said, but with Marius’s arms around her and her cloak covering them both, the fear and excitement of the day turned to exhaustion, and they both fell fast asleep.

-

Courfeyrac was utterly, completely, totally lost. He had tried to find his way back to the clearing or failing that out of the forest entire; but the trees all looked the same and he was sure he’d seen that particular toadstool before. And there were things in the forest. And, and, was that a wolf in the distance?

Courfeyrac sat down on a log. He tried to put his chin in his hands, but his new face had no chin to speak of.

It was so dark and strange here, and he felt so alone.

“Well, no matter, Courf my man,” he said to himself. His own voice cheered him immensely, being the most familiar thing around. “You’ve come through some bad scrapes before, and you’ll get through this one as well. In the meantime, you might as well keep yourself company.” And with that he began to sing. “The ousel cock so black of hue, with orange-tawny bill, the throstle with his note so true, the wren with little quill-”

“Hail, stranger,” said a gentle voice behind him. “I do not believe I have heard that song before. How far have you come, to sit and sing outside my bower?”

“I am not so far from home, although I cannot find my way out of these woods. Tell me, do you know how I can return to Athens?” Courfeyrac twisted around, looking for the source of the voice. “Where are you?”

“Oh, dear,” said the voice, and where before there had been nothing but undergrowth stood a tall, beautiful fairy. He could not have been mistaken for human. Perhaps it was the darkness of his eyes, or the force of his presence, but probably the wings .

“Oh,” Courfeyrac said softly.

-

Éponine would have given every single copper piece she had for a proper road. She would have given her left foot for a steady light, and her right for a sign. Sure, she knew Athens back and forth with her eyes closed, and she’d given a thought to how she might learn the new city they ended up in.  But the forest was dark and things rustled around her, and the trees all looked the same. Where was the path? How big was the forest?

She stomped her way through the undergrowth.  _ They left you, they left you _ , thudded her heart, and every crash of her foot onto the forest floor tried to drown it out.

“I was late,” she said aloud.

_ But they could have waited. _

“It would have been dangerous. Someone could have caught them, and then our plan would have been spoiled.” She scowled. “They’re probably lost, too.” This tugged her heartstrings. For all that Marius was older than her, he was a dreamer, likely to forget a task on the way because something had distracted him. Cosette was an innocent, soft-hearted despite the hardships of her youth and indiscriminately loving.

Éponine’s eyes smarted. She scrubbed at them angrily, swallowing around the lump in her throat, and kept going. 

And her heart sang,  _ Marius and Cosette, Cosette and Marius, wait for me, wait for me, wait for me _ .

-

“R,” said Enjolras, when his Puck wandered into his grove, “there is another human in my forest.”

R, who had been humming, abruptly stopped. “Is there, my lord?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, gritting his teeth. “A woman.”

R blinked.

“Two women, and a man, completely without magic and untouched by fairy, in my forest, on Midsummer Night!”

“Yes, yes,” R said, rapidly reaching a conclusion through the fog of love-lies-in-idleness. “Terrible.”

“Lovers, I think – I listened to their conversation, and it sounded as if they’d quarrelled with a third.”

“Verily,” R agreed. “Ah, you said untouched by magic?”

“Not a single drop of fairy blood or a touch of spell on them. Not even an enchantment! If they were an ensorcelled maid, perhaps, or a cursed knight-”

“Quite, my lord,” R said.

Enjolras narrowed his eyes at R. R stared innocently back.

Enjolras caved first. He reached out and took one of R’s gnarled hands in both of his slender, golden ones. “You will get rid of them for me, won’t you, R?”

“Of course, at once,” R said, planting a kiss on the tip of his king’s chin and scampering out of the grove before any more questions could be asked.

-

Titania’s bower was usually a quiet place. Titania was a scholar, tending towards study and reflection rather than Oberon’s impassioned arguments. Zir attendants were used to it, but now they sat around Titania and zir guest, delighted. Titania was  _ laughing _ .

“And then he told the guard,” Courfeyrac said, donkey’s mouth open in a wide, toothy grin, “’I don’t know about you, but I could really use a drink!’”

Combeferre threw back zir head, laughter bursting from zir chest. “He did not!”

“Oh, but he did,” Courfeyrac said. He gazed admiringly at the line of Combeferre’s throat. “Bossuet is a friend to all, even when it brings him bad luck.”

“That shows remarkable strength of will, as well as an admirable love for his fellows.”

“And we love him back just as much. My friends are true to the heart.” Courfeyrac sighed, although it came out as a little bray. “I am sure they are worried.”

“We will soon see if I can remove the spell upon you,” Combeferre promised, glancing over to a little cauldron which was bubbling merrily. “It would help if I knew who cast this spell on you, but you wandered into the woods on Midsummer, and for that any of those who dwell in this forest would feel you were owed your comeuppance.”

“I am sorry that I trespassed, though I did so unwittingly. But I cannot fully regret what happened, nor begrudge the fairy that cast this spell upon me, for it led me to you.” Courfeyrac caught up Combeferre’s hand.

The attendants all gasped at such a daring move.

Courfeyrac looked around him. “Have I trespassed again?”

“No,” Combeferre said. Fairies do not blush, but zir pale wings fluttered. “Not at all.”

-

In the thicket just beyond the two lovers, two fairies sat and pondered.

“Through the forest have I gone, but Athenian found I one,” sang R, half to himself and half to Jehan, who was giggling at nothing much.

“R,” Jehan said. “R, R, R, I do believe I am not in my wits.” They held a smoking pipe in one hand, wood stained strange colors. With each puff, pale lavender smoke flew up and the sweet scent of the purple flower mixed with the cool green scent of forest-at-night.

“And I,” declared R grandly, waving at the surrounding trees with loose, wide gestures, “am at my wit’s end. My lord claims there were two humans, but I found only one. And from his words, I am to believe there are now three, quite apart from the one I gave a donkey’s head.”

Jehan giggled. “Ooooh, that was a good trick of yours.”

“Thank you, I’ve been saving it.” R frowned and flipped himself forward to stand on his hands, a tangle of limbs until he ended up with his curls sweeping the earth and his toes wriggling at the stars. His movements were all rough grace, tempered and made languid by the smoke from Jehan’s pipe. “I fear I have erred.”

“There is a pun to be made there,” Jehan sighed, “but it would take too long.”

“Lazy,” R reproved, walking around on his hands.

“Hmmmm.”

R fell to the ground with a thud. “Jehan, you are very intoxicated, and I am intoxicated but less so. That is the only excuse for us being so silly, for I declare that the humans are right here by our sides, and we have only been facing the wrong way, so that they have been hidden by this raspberry bush.”

“Rrrrrrrraspberry,” Jehan said, and laughed.

-

A shower of rose petals fell upon Courfeyrac’s head, and he sneezed twice, but he was still a man with a donkey’s head.

“No matter,” Courfeyrac said cheerily, once he had cleared the rose petals from his head. “I can live as an ass a while longer. I daresay my mother would say I have lived as one my whole life long. Shall we try another remedy?”

“I am afraid I know no other remedies for such an ailment as yours,” Combeferre said. “This is a clever spell indeed, and I have not the trick to it.”

“It is well spoken to call this a trick, Titania,” said a voice. A small, squat fairy, hands tucked into pockets of spiderweb and a tuft of feathers tucked into his hat, smiled down at Courfeyrac. “Hallo, and well-met.”

“Join us and be welcome, Feuilly, if you know anything about this spell, for I declare that I know nothing that can lift it,” Combeferre said. “Sit by us, and speak.”

“Aye, well-met indeed, Master Feuilly,” Courfeyrac added. “For I confess I am tired of hungering for hay. What is it that you know of my mishap?”

“Only that I recognize the style of it. It is certainly the doing of Oberon’s closest companion and lover, who is called R, but known as Puck, for he is a cunning trickster.”

“He has a deft hand with his tricks,” said Courfeyrac ruefully. “I wish he would come and unhand me.”

At this one of Titania’s attendants came up to zim and spoke in zir ear. “Mustardseed says she saw Puck outside the bower earlier, requesting entrance as Oberon’s emissary, but I was away, and when I came back, Courfeyrac’s stories distracted her.”

“These courtiers are all the same,” Feuilly whispered to Courfeyrac. “All froth and foam.”

“I am afraid I am mostly foam myself, being a play-actor.”

“Not you, you have some substance, like a mug of the beer that humans drink, with its cap of white. Just so is this R I have told you about; he is a fine good fellow, full of play and cheer.”

“There is truth in that, as in all your words, my friend,” Combeferre said. “But for all that, he is wild.”

“As are we all,” said Feuilly, eyes glinting beetle-black. “For to be wild is to be free, and that is the sweetest thing of all.”

“There are different kinds of freedom,” said Courfeyrac. “In the realm of humans some of them come at the cost of others. I am free to lie abed all day and do nothing, but then I will not eat, for if I do not work, I have no coin to buy bread. The true freedom is itself free, like the freedom to love and be loved, which is very sweet indeed.” He ran a hand over his long, fuzzy ears. “So is the freedom to be yourself.”

Combeferre, who had been listening with zir head in zir hand and a dreamy look upon zir face, sat up at this and called out, “Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!”

“Ready!” said Peaseblossom, leaping to attention, followed by a chorus of “And I!” from the rest. They clustered in front of Combeferre like eager children, causing Courfeyrac to turn his head and exchange a silent laugh with zir.

“Prepare an emissary to Oberon. I wish to speak with him.”

“Hail!” cried all four, and hurried off to do their lady’s bidding.

Combeferre sighed. “It will take them a while to go. They are all such patter-brains, but I have no heart to let them go, for they would soon be eaten by a dog, they are so stupid.”

“That is very kind of you,” said Courfeyrac, soppy-sweet and enamored.

Feuilly rolled his eyes.

-

“Aren’t they sweet,” Jehan said, bending over the humans with a melancholy cast to their smile. “R, look how they hold each other.”

“Charming indeed, but they cannot stay.”

“They do no harm.” Jehan pointed at the man. “Look, he drools.”

R shrugged, indifferent to drool. “Oberon forbids it, and therefore they must leave. We must rouse them somehow and drive them out.”

“They are dressed for travel. I wonder where they were going?”

R shrugged. “We could put them on their path again, if you find out. If not, I will settle for driving them out of the forest, for on Midsummer, who knows what might happen if they are left here on their own?”

“That gives me leave to rummage among their belongings,” Jehan said, delighted. They go down on hands and knees, setting down their pipe to pull one pack towards themselves. “This is sore heavy.”

“Hark, Jehan, I hear someone coming.”

“Oh, let me have a little peek-”

R growled in frustration, and, catching Jehan’s wrist in one hand, pulled them both into the branches of a tree. Together they waited there, breathless, watching. A minute – two – and Jehan said, “Hellfire, R-”

“Shhh.” For into the clearing stomped a woman, dressed in Athenian garb, though it was poor-looking and dirty from the woods.

“A human, Jehan! She must be the third my lord mentioned.”

“R-”

“She’ll wake these two, and then we can drive them out of the forest and be done with this business. Then I will go and find the man upon which I set an ass’s head, for now I am sober I realize that I have ensorcelled him on Midsummer’s Night, and he could cause me much trouble in these woods if he is mistaken for one of ours.”

“R! I forgot my pipe down there.”

R stared at them in shock.

Below, hidden in the bracken of the forest floor, Jehan’s pipe wafted the scent of the purple flower.

-

Éponine almost didn’t see them at first. A rustle drew her gaze towards the hollow between two tree roots. A dark blue cloak, wonderful in its familiarity, barely covered a mop of black curls, tangled with tawny gold.

A few strides took her across the clearing, so fast that she barely remembered making the crossing. Éponine knelt by her lovers and brushed a hand against the small fingers holding the cloak close.

Cosette’s eyes fluttered open, and her gaze fixed on Éponine’s wide, worried eyes, the smudge of dirt on her cheek, the bitten mouth drawn tight.

“Well met, gentle maid,” she said, voice still rough from sleep.

“Oh, I am glad to have found you!” Éponine said. “I’ve been wandering for hours. I can’t believe you went without me!”

“Ah, you have been done an injury. I shall never leave your side again.” Cosette sat up, cloak sliding off, and reached a hand to caress Éponine’s cheek. “Tell me your name, beloved flower, and I will dedicate myself to it.”

Éponine drew back, expression drawn in sudden pain. “Cosette, I never knew you to be cruel.”

“Cruel, my dove? I would never wish to be cruel to you.” Cosette leaned forward, all eager to apologize.

“You know me, Cosette. You know who I am!” Éponine fell back, pulling away. She hit an elbow on a root and cried out, and at this Marius woke.

“Cosette, I dreamed the most beautiful dream, that an angel had come to us to rescue us.” He sat up and gasped. “The dream has come true! Fair angel, sent by the heavens!”

Éponine’s eyes, always dry, filled with tears. “Marius, why are you playing this game? I know I was late to our meeting-place, but to pretend you do not know me-”

“Cosette, she knows my name!”

“Aye, and mine, but she will not grant me knowledge of hers.”

“Such sweet sounds cannot fall from earthly lips; therefore, she will not tell us her name.”

Éponine let out a scream of frustration. “What is wrong with you? Cosette, I’ve known you since we were both children. Oh, this is hateful of you.”

“Ah, has he hurt you, my sweet? Marius, apologize!”

“I am a beast indeed, if I have hurt such a dear creature such as you, my lady.”

“I cannot sit hear and listen to this taunting. I hurt you, that I admit, and beg forgiveness with all my heart. But I do not deserve such treatment!”

“Cosette, she will not accept my apology. Perhaps it is you that is to blame for causing the lady an injury.”

“Forgive me, fair one,” Cosette cried.

Éponine scrambled to her feet. “I do not like this game you play. I am no stranger, but by the gods, I almost wish I were, for you are breaking my heart.” She turned and ran.

“Come back!” cried Cosette and Marius, and stumbled up after her.

-

“This is very, very bad,” R said, watching the humans race away from the clearing.

“Three humans, intoxicated with the purple flower, running amuck in a fairy woods? Yes, it is very bad.” Jehan dropped down from the tree, landing lightly on to feet. They picked up the pipe and mournfully knocked it out onto the ground, grinding the ash into mud. “Oberon will not like this.”

“He will have my head!” R climbed down the trunk as nimbly as Jehan had leapt. “He only wanted them out. You know how hard he has worked to keep the peace between the two realms-”

Jehan pouted. “No more games.”

“-and here I have drugged three humans and ensorcelled a fourth!” 

“It is easily mended,” Jehan said, shrugging. “Simply wait for the flower’s influence to wear off.”

“Who knows how long that takes for a human!” R dug his fingers into his curls and pulled. “No, no. I cannot wait. I will find some way to undo what has been done.”

“And how,” asked Jehan, “shall you do so?”

“I will think of some solution,” R said, eyes wild.

“I am sure, only you must have the humans for that.” Jehan waved around themselves at the empty clearing.

R said a word that made several flowers die, and ran off in the direction that the humans had gone. Jehan followed after at a more leisurely pace, singing, “Over hill, over dale,   
Thorough bush, thorough brier,   
Over park, over pale,   
Thorough flood, thorough fire…”

-

It was not more anguished cries that drew R to the humans, but rather a fiery argument. The human called Éponine had lungs on her that would have impressed a bellows, and was screaming accusations at the other two, who were screaming right back.

“So the purple flower causes insanity in the humans. I am no Dionysus, to control their madness, though I like wine as much, and would surely worship that self-same god if I were not that which I am,” R said to himself, hidden within a shrub. As the two women shoved each other, the man wandered away. R, torn between staying and following, heard him cry, “Where am I? What is this place?”

“This is a tangled knot and no mistake,” R said. “If only Jehan would catch up to me, they could watch these two, or follow the other. Nay, they would surely forget to watch, or play a trick. That is the nature of Jehan, even though my lord commands them not to play with the humans so.”

“By my troth, you speak much,” Jehan said. 

R gave a little scream.  “Ah! By  _ my _ troth, you take too much pleasure in standing all my hair on end.”

“True, it stands, but not of my doing. Tis your mother’s doing for giving you such hair.”

“Alas, I would take her to task, but she left afore I was born.”

“A rare gifted lady.”

“True, though she left none of them to me.”

“Ah, more leaving,” Jehan said, and R whirled to see that the women were gone.

“Jehan, I will kill you,” he growled, but Jehan was already wandering after the women.

-

“Your Majesty,” whispered a squat little dryad, “there is an envoy from Titania here who wish an audience with you.”

Enjolras drummed his fingers on his thigh. The unlucky dryad trembled, gaze firmly fixed on its feet.

“Very well,” Enjolras said. He threw himself onto his throne. “Bring them in. Where is Puck?”

“N-not back yet, Your Graciousness.”

Enjolras scowled.

He was still scowling when Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustardseed trotted before his throne. “Be you welcome, and state your message,” he thundered.

Moth squeaked and tried to hide behind Mustardseed.

Peaseblossom cleared her throat. “Oberon, King of all the Fairies, Lord of this Forest, Monarch of the Places In Between, His Grace of the –”

“Yes, yes, get on with it!”

“Zir Majesty Queen Titania respectfully desires your presence in zir bower, and requests that you bring Puck as well.”

“R is busy,” Enjolras said, and such was his presence that only Mustardseed attempted, tremulously, to add that Zir Majesty really would prefer to have Puck come as well-

“R!” Enjolras bellowed, and immediately R popped into being by the throne, looking as wild as usual but decidedly more frazzled.

“Combeferre requests our presence in zir bower,” Enjolras said, mood tempered a little by his presence. “Why is there half a forest in your hair?”

“Uh,” R said, removing a handful of leaves from his curls. “I was frolicking?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

“It’s in my job description,” R added helpfully.

Moth, nerves stretched to breaking, tittered.

Enjolras sighed. “We shall go with you,” he said grandly, “to Titania’s bower.”

-

Everything was purple, and odd. The forest was so very strange – it bubbled up in places, and made sounds that were almost like talking, and sang.

“I do wander everywhere,” sang the forest.

The woman beside her giggled. “What a nice song.” She wiggled her fingers. “I do wander e – e –”

“Everywhere,” Éponine said, and felt her eyes, embarrassingly, fill with tears.

“Oh no,” the stranger said, eyes wide. “Oh no, if you cry the fairies eat you.”

“No they don’t,” Éponine said, shocked out of crying. “That’s a lie. My Mama told me that when I was a baby.”

“Mamas don’t lie,” the woman said, frowning.

“Everyone lies. They tell you that they love you and then they leave you.”

“Maybe they want to come back but they can’t?”

Éponine shrugged. This turned into a full body wriggle that sent her into a fit of dancing.

“Swifter than the moon's sphere,” sang the forest.

“I must go seek some dewdrops here;   
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.   
Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone.”

“Gone!” the stranger sighed. “Tis ill done.” She sat down and blinked up at Éponine. “I think I will lie here awhile.”

Éponine nodded and yawned. “Not I; I am not weary.” But she sat down not too far from the other woman, blinking at the dark.

“Our queen and king and all our elves come here anon,” sang the forest, or perhaps someone sitting on a branch high above their heads. But the two women were asleep.

-

Combeferre received them on zir throne, all grace and poise as always.

“Presenting His Royal Majesty, Oberon, King of all the Fairies,” R said, rather less grandly than usual, because Combeferre was glaring at him. “Greetings and hail to Zir Majesty, Titania, Queen of all the Fairies.”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre said, rising from zir throne. “Be welcome.”

“My thanks.”

“I fear this is not a meeting of pleasure.”

“Clearly.”

The two stared at each other for a second.

“You stole my advisor!” Enjolras blurted.

“Your Puck laid a spell on this very worthy and innocent hu – I beg your pardon, what did I do?”

“You lured Feuilly, my most trusted advisor, while I was engaged in other business.”

“Your other business, by Feuilly’s own witness, was very loud,” Combeferre said, leaning forward with a raised eyebrow. “You might take a moment to clear your bower before you engage in such… business. Especially around one as Feuilly who dislikes such things.”

“Ah,” Enjolras said. “I see.”

“You would have known this is you had asked him,” Combeferre said, gesturing to an attendant, who scampered off.

“Would you ask him hither, so that I may apologize?”

Combeferre nodded. “I have already sent for him. But we have other business yet, for your Puck has committed a grave misdeed.”

“I cannot claim I am surprised, for he has been very odd this night. Come forward, R, and tell me what you have wrought.”

“I suppose I must,” R said, shoulders slumped. “For I have indeed blundered through my doings this night, and though I have tried to mend things on my own, have not succeeded, and tried to hide my deeds from you, my Oberon, so that you would not chastise me for a fool and brainsick besides. Now I would humbly request assistance to repair the damage.”

“I would never call you a fool, R. Thou art more dear to me than mine own head, and though you are a trickster, your heart is true.” Enjolras took his hand. “I would not have you keep your deeds from me.”

“Then there is a long tale ahead of us; but first there are four humans in this forest who have been bespelled, and I would fain have them restored to themselves. Three of them I believe I can easily find again, but one more I know not where he is, and am anxious to find again, for the bewitchment upon him is such as would frighten any other human who saw him out of their wits.”

“And nearly drove me out of mine, besides,” said Courfeyrac, entering the bower alongside Feuilly. “I daresay my friends thought it was a jape, once they got over their fright, but I would have wandered through the woods calling heigh-ho until dawn if not for Combeferre.”

“The head is easily removed,” said R, and proved it. “The memory of it can be removed as well, if you wish. I tender you my deepest apologies, good fellow, for it was a cruel trick and pointless besides.”

“Ah, it was a merry trick. That I can admit now tis over.” Courfeyrac felt at his face, exploring the newly shortened nose and lack of fur. “It seems to be as it was, and no harm done.”

“You are a good fellow indeed,” R said admiringly, and clasped hands with Courfeyrac. “No wonder you have found favour in the eyes of Titania.”

“Ah,” Courfeyrac said, and blushed.

“He has, and furthermore I would grant Courfeyrac the free entry of this forest and Our realm, so that he may visit often,” Combeferre said, and gave Enjolras a pointed look.

“I grant the same boon, and protection from all fairy creatures who might cause the good Courfeyrac harm.” Enjolras had the decency to blush. “And now we must restore the other humans who have come to harm under my command.”

“We will come with you,” Combeferre said. “And then I will take Courfeyrac to the edge of the forest.”

-

Jehan looked completely unsurprised at the appearance of the two rulers of the realm, two royal advisors, and a human. In fact, they hardly noticed these arrivals, so busy were they with Marius, who was speaking to himself and refused to fall asleep.

“Ah, Jehan is a good friend,” R said, and promptly knocked Marius over the head. Marius dropped like a log.

“Oh, thanks be,” Jehan sighed. “He was speaking his own poetry. I was fair tempted to stuff his shoes down his throat.”

Enjolras cleared his throat pointedly.

Jehan swept a bow in his and Combeferre’s direction. “Your Majesties. What an honor.”

“It’s good to see you returned, Jehan the bard,” Combeferre said. Turning to Courfeyrac, zie added, “Jehan is the finest poet you’ll meet. They have a skill equal to none.”

“Ah, then you should come to the play my friends and I are performing this eve, friend Jehan,” Courfeyrac declared. “We cannot prove equal to fairy pleasures and graces, but we amuse, and that is something.”

“Perhaps I shall,” Jehan said. They gestured vaguely. “The women are over there, also asleep, though their sleep is sweeter than this man’s. They, at least, let me sing them to sleep.”

“Our thanks to you,” Enjolras said. “Come, we will remove the effect of the purple flower, and bring them to the edge of the forest by the city, so that they will think the night was a vexing dream.”

-

Éponine awoke to a gentle hand shaking her. She blinked up into the sweet face haloed by sunlit curls. “Cosette!”

“Darling,” Cosette said, and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Éponine, I thought you had decided not to come with us!”

“Of course I came,” Éponine said. “ _ I _ thought you’d left me.”

“Never in a thousand years.” 

“Gav asked me to take him with me,” Éponine whispered.

“Oh, darling.” Cosette held her hand to Éponine’s cheek.

“Where’s Marius?”

“He just went a little ahead to see what city that is.” Cosette pointed through the trees, where a wall with a great gate could be seen. “We must have crossed the forest in the night, for we’re just at the edge of it.”

“Those gates look very familiar,” Éponine said slowly. She rose to her feet, taking Cosette’s hand, walking the rest of the way out of the forest. Just clear of the trees, they heard Marius say, “I told you, I don’t know where they are!”

“Oh, really?” said Javert, and pointed at the frozen girls.

-

Javert marched them straight into the Duke’s office without even knocking, where Duke Valjean sat with his head in his hands.

“What is it now, Javert?” he said, and then he looked up and joy bloomed in his eyes. “Cosette!”

“Sir,” Javert began, but the Duke ignored him, rushing to wrap his daughter in and embrace.

“Little Lark, where have you been? Why is your dress covered in leaves?”

“Papa,” Cosette said, voice trembling, “I tried to run away.”

“But why?”

“Because you’re the Duke, Papa, and you write the law in Athens, and the law here says that I cannot be with two people.” Cosette raised her head high. “And I love two people.”

“Your Grace,” Javert interrupted. “These two with your daughter are Lord Marius Pontmercy and a street-girl called Éponine.”

Cosette glared at him, then turned back to her father. “I love them, Papa. I love them both.”

“And we love her,” Marius said.

“We all love each other,” Éponine said, taking both their hands.

“Well,” the Duke said, “is that all?” He laughed at the expressions on the three young people before him. “Cosette, I’m the Duke of this city. I can change the law.”

“Oh,” Marius said faintly.

“And change it I will, for my daughter and her happiness, and the happiness of her beloveds. It is an old law, and unjust, if it brings such fear and sorrow.”

“Thank you, Papa, thank you!” Cosette cried.

“But it’s not done!” Javert protested.

The Duke raised an eyebrow. “The good captain does have a point, Cosette. It’s not done to run off in the night with two people. There will be talk.”

“Oh, no, Papa, please –”

“You’ll simply need to be wed as quickly as possible,” the Duke said.

Cosette scowled at him. “Oh, Papa, how could you!” Then she burst into tears and threw herself into Marius’s arms.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Éponine said quietly.

The Duke smiled at her. “You bring Cosette joy. That is all that matters to me.”

-

The kiss Combeferre had given him lingered on Courfeyrac’s lips, and brought a light tune to his lips. He whistled as he entered the theatre, a tune that Jehan had sung turned nearly tuneless.

“Courfeyrac!” called four voices, and three people, half-dressed in their costumes, nearly knocked him over in greeting.

“What happened?”

“Where were you?”

“Did you see that thing that came out of the forest?”

“We tried to tell the guard you were missing, but they wouldn’t listen to us!”

“All right, all right, my friends,” Courfeyrac laughed. “I will tell you all, but first we have a play to prepare for!”

“Haven’t you heard? The Duke’s daughter is missing, and the revels have been cancelled until she is found!” Joly cried.

“Your news is old, my friend. The Duke’s daughter has returned.” Courfeyrac patted Joly on the back. “Say, where is Bahorel?”

“You won’t believe what has just happened,” Bahorel said, rushing into the theatre with the best timing of his life. “Courfeyrac! You’re back?”

“And with a tale to tell, which he has promised to us later,” Musichetta added. “But pray, what’s yours?”

“The Duke’s daughter is back –”

“Oh, we know,” Bossuet said.

“And she’s getting married! Today! We’ll be performing in front of her!” Bahorel grinned at them. “And her wife and husband!”

The screams of joy that erupted from Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta would have deafened a crowd. The proposals flying between the three would have been enough for that same crowd to marry itself.

“Truly, this is a fine Midsummer for love,” Courfeyrac murmured.

Bahorel pointed at him. “That is a lovesick smile if I ever saw one, my friend. What have you been up to?”

“All in good time,” Courfeyrac promised. “In the meantime, the play’s the thing!”

-

There is no-one more disposed to be delighted than those who have been given a sudden happiness. Éponine, Marius, and Cosette, newly wed before the people of Athens, were in their own little sphere of joy, and could easily have found beauty in any performance, even one they had seen a hundred times over.

There is, however, a limit to everything.

“This is not…the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Éponine said, fingering the embroidery on the wedding gown that had been hastily acquired for her.

“An interesting interpretation,” Cosette said tactfully, leaning into the embrace of both her spouses.

“Perhaps it’s a modern adaptation,” Marius ventured. He bent his head closer to his beloveds’ and whispered, “Are we still dreaming from the night?”

“This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard,” Captain Javert said loudly from his station behind the Duke’s chair.

The three newlyweds burst into giggles.

“Now, Javert, these are simple men and women of Athens, come to bring what art they hold dear to their hearts before their neighbours. Be kind in your criticisms.”

“Yes, your grace.”

And at the edge of the crowd, in the crown of the tree that shaded the plaza:

“Oh, R,” Jehan breathed, eyes wide. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“I daresay there’s some wonder in it, that this play be shown before the Duke of Athens,” R muttered. “As for Titania’s beloved, I would fain hope that he has some other employment apart from this, for though his heart may be that of an actor’s his verse is that of a barrister.”

“Look at that wall,” Jehan sighed. “I swear to you, that if I were to “kiss the wall’s hole” as Pyramus does, I would not protest as he does.”

“My dear friend, although I love you well, I must request that you never tell me anything like that ever again.” R patted Jehan’s shoulder. “Take heart; the play will soon end-”

“Tragedy, indeed.”

“And then you may leave flowers for the wall you are fluttering your eyelashes at.” R grinned impishly. “Methinks I will join the dancing afterwards. This is Midsummer, after all. Even my lord could not begrudge me a dance.”

“Midsummer true was yesterday,” Jehan said. “Is this not too close to your latest mishap to tempt Oberon’s anger?”

“My sweet Jehan! Speak not so. My lord forgives all, for he loves me, and I am very, very convincing.” R gestured as grandly as the players onstage. “Give me your hands, if we be friends, and R shall restore amends.”

-

If this writer has offended,   
Think but this, and all is mended,   
That you have but slumber'd here   
While these visions did appear.   
And this weak and idle theme,   
No more yielding but a dream,   
Gentles, do not reprehend:   
if you pardon, we will mend:   
And, as I am an honest Puck,   
If we have unearned luck   
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,   
We will make amends ere long;   
Else the Puck a liar call;   
So, good night unto you all.


End file.
